


Miles to go

by ferggirl



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, things that keep me up at night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma's too busy with science to follow the rules. Grant gets to use those glasses again. Melinda races the clock. Also there's some lovely dramatic rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Next to you

"Where’s Simmons?"

May’s question brings Ward up short. He’s tossing gear into the SUV, feeling a bit more relaxed now that he’s safely escorted the team back to the rendezvous point. But a quick head count confirms it.

Jemma Simmons is not there. Dammit.

Fitz looks up from the laptop he and Skye are poring over. “Jemma? She offered to grab a few more samples while we packed up.”

An explosion in the woods to their left draws a soft curse from Ward. “Shit. Sir, that is way too close for comfort. We have the target secured. I’ll go retrieve Simmons. May can double back for us?”

Melinda May slides her aviators on and nods once. Coulson grimaces, but the whine of another incoming missile decides the issue. Fitz turns a bit green as he seems to finally realize the danger his lab partner is in.

Ward grabs an extra sidearm and slams the back of the SUV closed. It peels off for the relative safety of the Chinese border. The Russian splinter group knows the Chinese will tolerate no incursions onto their soil.

**

The impact site is eerily silent.

She’s carefully tapping some dirt into a sample container, and he’s relieved to see she’s all in one piece.

"How was my saying ‘stay in the car’ confusing?" he calls out, feeling only a little smug at the way she straightens up, pretending she was about to leave. He radios a quick “got her” to the team.

"Ah, yes, well, Fitz thought we didn’t have enough samples from the perimeter of the impact site, and since you were still loading the meteorite and assorted weaponry…" She tries a smile. 

He’s not amused. “Did you miss the bit about the armed extremists who believe the asteroid is theirs by divine right?”

A spurt of gunfire has him diving at her, one hand covering her mouth and the other drawing his own firearm. 

They land in a heap, her curled around her samples, him braced on top of her.

“I, uh, in fact I did not miss that. I just thought this would be a touch faster than it’s turned out to be,” she whispers breathlessly through his fingers. He shushes her, and she nods, pointing at the samples and the padded bag that will protect them.

“Hurry,” he mutters. He wants cover, and distance. Once she’s got it loaded he grabs her around the waist and propels her into the darkening forest. He’s about 70 percent sure the extremists are coming from the east, so he points them south.

**

It’s been quiet for about 15 minutes when he finally slows the pace.

“So I missed the short bus, huh?” It’s more a mutter than a whisper.

“Yeah, Coulson said we’re so special we get to walk to China,” he allows a smile to crack through. “You mostly.”

They take a breather behind a rock formation, and he passes her his canteen and looks worriedly at her feet. She’s wearing boots, of a sort, but they have heels and don’t look very comfortable to him.

 “I think we need a uniform,” he says.

“Excuse me?” She almost spits out her mouthful of water, and follows his gaze down to her feet. “Oh no. Nope. You will take these away from me over my dead body.”

“That’s the point,” he argues. “If we’re bringing you out into the field, at the very least you should be dressed like an agent.”

She wipes at her mouth and hands back the canteen. “Agent Ward,” she says, adopting the professorial voice that he’s noticed she uses when she needs to break through one of Fitz’s rambles. “I am not an agent. I refuse to be sentenced to a life of black separates and combat boots just in case I might possibly have to run.”

He glares at her.

She grins, then bites her lip. “I will allow, however, that I should expand my collection of field-appropriate footwear. I don’t want to wear the heel down on these with too much use.”

He’s so busy watching her be pleased with her own comeback, he almost misses the beep from his proximity sensor. But she hears it and grabs at his waist for the small device.

“That is not blue,” she says. SHIELD trackers show up on the sensor in shades of blue. All others are red.

There are 15 red dots, on a path leading straight to the rocks where he and Jemma are hidden. Grant doesn’t have much time to plan.

He unbuckles his vest and slides it over her head, ignoring her baffled look. He pulls off his holster belt next, and reaches around her to secure it to the vest. When she pushes at him in protest, he puts a finger against her mouth and hands her his gun. He silently demonstrates the safety a few times, remembering Skye’s predilection for confusing that with the magazine release.

Then he realizes his glasses are in an inside pocket… of his vest that she is now wearing. He grimaces an apology and slides his other hand down, trying very hard not to think about how pink she’s blushing or how his heart rate just spiked. Or that she’s holding his gun.

When he draws the useless x-ray glasses out, she gives him a look of comprehension and shakes her head in disgust. He pretends to misunderstand her disapproval.

“What? I thought they looked good on me.” He whispers it right at her ear, and can’t ignore the delicious shiver that runs through her as his lips touch her earlobe.

It’s a weak joke to make her feel more confident about a weak plan. Melinda is coming, she has their location. So he’ll find a place to hide Jemma, and blunder around doing his best Fitz impression to persuade the thugs he’s the only one out here. He has a better chance of staying alive if he’s not perceived as a threat. Thus: add fake glasses and her sample bag; subtract his weapons, ID, and body armor.

He’s already got her hiding place picked out – a small overhang on the side of the rocks, hosting a riotous growth of new pine trees and underbrush. It’s sheltered, and she’ll be able to see everyone coming. Grant pulls the foliage to the side and indicates that she should proceed.

She nods and starts forward, white-faced. She’s only gotten a few steps when she whirls and throws her arms around him. He catches her, letting the plants spring back into place as he cradles the side of her head with his palm.

“Be careful.”

“Be quiet.”

And then she’s gone.

He paces around the spot, checking to see if her pink sweater or pale skin are noticeable, but she’s beautifully hidden.

So he sets off to greet the oncoming horde. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ship is becoming a bit of a problem for me. BECAUSE I LOVE IT. Also, last night's episode blew my mind. So amazing.


	2. If you're lucky

When the rain moves in, it hits with the force Grant Ward’s only ever felt in a tropical monsoon. But this is a cold, driving wetness that brings with it not life, but death.

Grant’s never liked rain. It obscures sight lines, masks approaching combatants, covers footprints and just… gets everywhere. He’s wet from his socks to his prop glasses and dripping hair.

And Jemma Simmons is a few hundred yards behind him, huddled in the rocks as she waits for Melinda May to show up with an exit plan.

God, he wishes he had a better exit plan. Instead, he’s blundering directly at the oncoming militants, stripped of weapons and protective clothing. Those he left with Jemma. He just hopes it will be enough if one of these assholes gets past him.

She’s got the steady hand of a surgeon, he reminds himself. She can handle pressure.

But there’s a desperate thrum in his heartbeat that’s determined she’ll never have to fire.

He hears the Russians before he sees them. He’s fluent in Russian, most of the Romance languages, and his Japanese is passable. They’re trading curses that the SUV eluded them and calling out to scouts who should be running into him in moments.

Grant assumes a terrified expression and turns deliberately into their path.

“Help! Can anyone help me? I’ve lost my team!”

When the first three soldiers burst into view he throws his hands up and does his best to gibber uncontrollably in the face of their AK-47s.

“No, please, it’s just, my team was here, and I was supposed to go to the road, and I don’t know which way is North, and, uh, does anyone here speak English?”

But he’s marking their stances, their relative youth and uncertain grips on the guns. He can take three of them with his eyes closed. The question is: should he attempt 15 or wait for Melinda May?

**

Jemma scrabbles back as the rain begins to penetrate her little cave’s vegetative door. She knows, rationally, that Ward’s equipment is nearly all built to work in any conditions. But she still has the urge to keep it dry and safe.

It’s the least she can do, really. He’s out there facing more than a dozen enemy combatants. Alone.

Thunder crashes a few times, and she considers her options.

  1. Stay where he’s left her, safe and dry, and leave him to fight alone.
  2. Follow the fast-moving retreat of the red dots on her proximity sensor and do what she can while she has the element of surprise.



She’s trying to come up with a third option when lightning flashes and illuminates the outline of a person, gun drawn, approaching her position.

Jemma unholsters Ward’s gun with a racing heart, carefully walking herself through his instructions on the safety, aiming the gun, making sure her finger’s on the trigger. She has the shot, but if this person didn’t show on her sensor, there could be more.

 _Be quiet,_ he’d said. So she waits.

The person turns, and another lightning flash reveals a woman’s figure. “Ward? Simmons?”

“Oh, oh god, Agent May! I’m here!” Jemma recognizes the aggrieved tone and hurries to put the safety back on.

The vegetation parts, and May’s hand comes through, pulling Jemma and her added weight of vest and gear through to the wet clearing.

“Where’s Ward?” Agent May is dressed in her SHIELD suit, and looks as sleek and deadly as every picture Jemma’s ever seen of the the Black Widow.

“He, uh,” she digs for the proximity sensor and gasps when she realizes the group has left the visible area. “They were heading, um, that way.” She points to the top right corner hopefully. “Northeast, I think?”

May has her hair pulled tightly back, and looks unfazed by the rain that is slowly seeping into Jemma’s socks and shirt. She grimaces.

“He went to play the hero, did he?”

“He, uh, thought he could draw them off.”

“What did he bring?” May asks, eyeing Jemma’s recently acquired vest, weapons belt, and the gun still held in her right hand. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“Well he took my sample bag, and thought if he looked like a scientist they’d want to talk instead of shoot, I think.” She shivers, reminding herself that the cracks she’d heard earlier were thunder, not gunshots.

“We better hope he’s right.” May pulls out Fitz’s favorite portable tracking device. It’s got a range of 5 miles and each of them carries a chip with a specific signature. When it powers on, it shows JS and MM on top of each other at the center of the display. The rest of the team is too far to see. But moving slowly northeast, about 2 miles from their location, is a strong GW.

Of course, Jemma knows that doesn’t mean he’s alive. Just that he’s moving.

“Ok.” May looks relieved, and starts walking. Jemma hurries to follow. “Here’s how this works. You stay behind me. You fire that weapon only to save your own life.”

It’s half an hour of muddy walking, and Jemma is wet, cold, and scared by the time they circle around the back of the campsite. May finds a large tree and indicates that Jemma should stay hidden there. Then she leans in.

“Time me. 5 minutes. If we’re not back, you hit the panic button.” Jemma looks at her, wide-eyed. The panic button will call in the rest of their team and any allied troops in the region. “But we’ll be back,” May says with a slight smile.

Then she disappears into the night.

Jemma counts 5 gunshots before she catches herself and focuses instead on the second hand of her watch.

Three and a half minutes later, Agents May and Ward come walking out of the camp.

**

He gives her the front seat in the SUV.

He tucks the samples safely into the seat next to him, with his body armor and gun belt thrown on top. Jemma had stripped them off with a smile and a blush when they reached the vehicle.

The ride back to the Chinese airfield they’re staging out of is quiet. May gives the shortest ever lecture to Jemma, asking, “So, from now on?”

The biochemist nods miserably. “I’m really sorry,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at him.

They pull into the hangar and tiredly start for the plane, but May corrects them.

“Sleeping in Chinese quarters tonight, keeping the bus low-profile until the weather clears,” she says, pointing in the direction of a small bunkhouse a few hundred yards away. “I’ll load up the samples. You get going.”

It’s not well lit, and it’s still pouring. After Jemma’s third near-stumble, Grant grabs her hand and doesn’t let go.

He slows imperceptibly as they get close. Checking his gut for warnings of danger, he finds only the strange longing to prolong the evening. It’s absurd, he tells himself, she’s soaked and tired and probably wants nothing more than to be done with him for the night.

But still, “You handled yourself well tonight,” he says, wincing at the awkward tone of the compliment.

She laughs and shakes her head, throwing water droplets in a halo around her. “Yes, I did an awfully good job of hiding while you and Agent May risked your lives.”

“No, Jemma,” he looks for the words that would say what he’s really feeling. “You did what we needed you to. You stayed safe, you tracked me, you didn’t get yourself captured or, or do something dumb to make our job harder.”

She stops and looks up at him. “Except for the whole not staying in the car bit, right?”

He nods acknowledgement.

He’s about to start walking again when she drops his hand, steps in front of him and puts her hand to his chest. “Look, Ward. I mean, Grant,” she swallows and looks down for a moment. He can see her eyelashes clumped together by the rain, and he reaches to push a wet strand of hair from her face. That brings her eyes back up, and he hurries to drop his hand. “What you did tonight, I didn’t deserve it. But thank you.”

She pulls at his wet shirt to help her rise to her toes, and drops a kiss on his cheek. It’s sweet, and innocent, and not what he wants at all.

“Jemma,” he isn’t sure what he’s trying to say. Just that he doesn’t want to go inside with her feeling like some damsel he saved. He reaches out to cup her shoulder, and suddenly she’s propelling herself up again, but this time she’s aiming for his lips. He meets her halfway, lips slanting over hers with an eagerness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Her mouth is cool after so long standing in the rain, but her lips are soft, and Grant makes it his mission to warm her. He brings his hands up to frame her face, and she sighs into him.

A crack of thunder startles them apart. Grant looks up to see the curtains on the porch windows twitch, and he suddenly wishes they were somewhere, anywhere else. He’s not ready to see the team.

She laughs, and he can’t help but lean in to kiss her again. This time he lifts her up, letting her settle her legs around his waist and bringing their faces even.

“Oh, is that how you’re going to play it?” she whispers, delighted. She threads her hands into his wet hair and takes control of the kiss. It’s hot, and fierce, and he’s surprised he’s able to keep them both upright.

“Hold on,” he mutters into her cheek, and then he’s moving them both, heading for a dark spot by a side door just under the security camera. It’ll be in the blind spot, away from the windows and under the little awning.

When her back hits the wall she grins over his mouth. His hands finally free to roam a bit more, he runs them up her legs, then ghosts along her sides. His thumbs tease the sides of her breasts and she stops breathing for a moment. So he does it again.

He kisses down her neck, looking for her soft spots, trying to surprise a gasp out of her. When he reaches the pulse point and kisses the racing beat, she arches off the wall with a murmur of approval.

The crunch of gravel is like a gunshot. Grant has her on her feet, completely shielded between him and the wall in seconds, his gun drawn.

“Stand down, Ward, it’s just me.” It’s the closest he’s ever heard May to laughter. “Get your soggy asses inside, you need to get those stitches dealt with.” Then she’s climbing the steps and through the front door.

He holsters his gun again, and looks down to see Jemma glaring at him. Oh shit.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to take advantage-”

“You absolute moron,” she snaps, holding up her left hand, which is blood streaked from its previous position on his neck. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt!”

He lets one side of his mouth twitch up. “Well, I was a little… distracted.”

She grabs his face and pulls him down for a quick, hard kiss. When she lets go, he’s seeing stars. It’s embarrassing.

“In.” She shoves at his chest, backing him away from their spot against the wall. “Now. If you’re lucky I’ll remember where I keep the local anesthetic.”

They climb the front steps and Fitz and Skye come barreling out of the door, questions flying and hugs all around. She shoos them inside and mutters dire things about him bleeding to death. He catches a glimpse of her in the porch light, face flushed and lips swollen slightly from their kissing.

Oh, he’s lucky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voila. So that happened. Two little bursts of silly with some wet kissing at the end. Everyone still ok out there?


End file.
